


an eternity of clouded hell

by louare



Category: Super Paper Mario (Game)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Blood, Gore, Kinda, M/M, No Smut, Romance, Super Paper Mario AU, The Count of Monte Cristo - Freeform, i kinda started it as just a weird au fic but then i ended up loving it, not a popular pairing i know but its my secret fav, there is some violence in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-07-29 15:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7689808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louare/pseuds/louare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing is ever really perfect.<br/>Even in a perfect world. </p><p>O'Chunks and Mr. L survive in Dimentio's perfect world</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i know this fic isnt exactly the best, but its actually one of the few chapter stories ived ever managed to finish! and, i love it a lot.  
> so dont be nice, pls, rip this thing apart

It was a beautiful day out. Mr. L smiled as he looked over the green expanse of the backyard. The sun was shining, meaning Dimentio was in a good mood, and as much as the garden needed water, he much preferred a happy Dimentio to an angry one.

The day was early. He’d left O’Chunks in bed, snoring the pictures off the wall. Mr. L hoped he would stay asleep for the entire visit. He didn’t remember what happened; the brainwash had assured that, and his aggressive remarks sometimes put Dimentio in a bad mood.

Which-that wasn’t good. Dimentio in a- _bad mood_ was never good.

“Quite beautiful today, no?”

Mr. L nodded in agreement. Footsteps padded across the porch, stopping beside him. Dimentio leaned against the railing, looking out at the yard. The wood creaked under the weight.

“You have done well with this garden.”

“Thank you, “Mr. L murmured, and added, “Because it’s all thanks to you.”

He heard a light chuckle. ”Indeed.” Dimentio shifted, and he laid an hand across Mr. L’s broad shoulders. It was cold. “Do you have anything new to tell me?”

Mr. L shrugged, and started his pre-written speech. “The blackberries are starting to produce, but as a whole, we need more rain. We’ve planted the summer crops. We’ll have plenty to trade and sell in town. I really like trading- it’s fun to negotiate.” It brought back memories of having a will of his own, but he’d never say that.

Mr. L saw Dimentio grin from the corner of his eye. ”I am glad you approve of my economic system. “ He paused. “I worked quite hard to make this world perfect.”

Mr. L knew what he wanted. “Thank you, Lord Dimentio.” He said it with as much sincerity you can force into bitter-tasting words, and the jester smiled at him.

To his relief, Dimentio removed his hand, and stood straight. ”I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, Mr. L. I will see you next week.”

“See ya,” he said, but Dimentio was already gone.

Mr. L sighed, and took a long, last look at the landscape. It was always pretty in the morning. He turned, and let his hands brush the wind chimes as he walked back inside, into the kitchen. O’Chunks would wake up when he started breakfast- the Irishman was a sucker for bacon and sausage.

From the window over the sink, as he rinsed out two cups, Mr. L spotted a storm cloud blowing towards them. He made a note on the fridge notebook to thank Dimentio next week. He was particular about Mr. L noticing his gifts.

After breakfast he’d go down to the river, and sit on one of the rocks for a while. The water was always cold. It cancelled out the cold on the top of his shoulders, and if he was rained on, all the better to be rid of it.

He’d take a hundred of O’Chunks’s scoldings to the cold chill Dimentio left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, what a pyscho


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i mention the first draft of this story was written on my phone

“Yer chilled to teh bone, L!” O’Chunks snapped at him as he peeled off the thin wet jacket that clung to the smaller man’s skin. Mr. L flinched, but O’Chunks grip was gentle, despite his tone, and his hands were warm. He flung the coat into the laundry basket, put a hand on the man’s lower back and led him through the living room, into the hallway.

“Go on an’ change clothes. Bring ‘em out when yer done and I’ll put ‘em in the dryer, alright?” O’Chunks pushed him into the bedroom. The door closed and he was alone, again. The silence stung his ears like the screeching of dying cats, as bad as the rain, pounding against the rocks and water steady as drums.

Mr. L pulled off his clothes, and dropped them on the floor. They were crumpled black blobs, hideous and heavy. They were going to leave wet spots on the carpet. He took a step forward, stopped, and Mr. L stared at his reflection in the mirror.

“It’s me.” He said aloud, his voice quiet and hoarse.

 _It’s you,_ he thought, his thought soft and tired.

His ribs were sharp knives in the pale flesh of his belly, and his stomach was caved inward, just like his cheeks. The face that peered back from the mirror was a hollow one. The eyes that gazed back were weary.

Thank god O’Chunks never saw this. Thank god he somehow only saw the best in him. 

He pulled on a clean pair of boxers, but borrowed pajama pants and a shirt from the other honey-colored dresser on the left side of the room. O’Chunks wouldn’t mind. Somehow, he always understood- his clothes held the hint of cologne, and they felt better with the billowing fabric loose against his skin. It was a bad day today. Every visit day was a bad day. O’Chunks understood.

He was standing right outside when Mr. L opened the door. He took the soggy mess without a word. Mr. L waited, and listened to the footsteps pounding against the floor, the sound of wringing cloth, the water pattering against the rug. Familiar sounds. The music of home.

The living rooms windows were dark when he entered. Mr. L walked to the closest one and looked out. It was still light enough to see a little, and he could see the grass ripple, and the tall plants sway with the harsh wind. He noticed that when he squinted, Mr. L could catch the slight glint of the wind chimes that hung above the garden shed door. He had hung them himself.

O’Chunks had boosted him up on his shoulders so he could hang them up so high. Mr. L remembered  standing in silence, staring up at the chimes and listening to the twinkling in the breeze. It had been a Wednesday. A day when Dimentio’s last visit was a distant memory, and his next something far into the future. A good day. O’Chunks had cooked a dish so sweet that night that Mr. L could still taste it when they kissed. If anything had ever been _perfect,_ it was that day.

“Was he angry t’is mornin’?” Mr. L jumped and whirled around. O’Chunks wiped his hands on a dish towel, and his eyes peered at him from underneath bushy eyebrows. His long face had a faint worried look on it.

“…No.” Mr. L said. “No, he seemed happy. It was clear this morning too. I mentioned that the garden was a little dry though, he might have…”

O’Chunks nodded. “’Ell, somethin’ made ‘im mad. I think it’ll rain all day tomorrah too.” He pointed at the couch. “Sit down. An’ try not teh get sick, please.”

Mr. L shuddered, and obeyed. O’Chunks pulled a blanket over him and then went back to the laundry room.

The last time he had gotten sick, it had been the day before Dimentio’s visit. If his fever hadn’t been high enough to almost kill, Mr. L would have talked to Dimentio himself- but it was, and O’Chunks was forced to their now king and overlord.

O’Chunks couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut, either.

There were thick footsteps, and Mr. L felt the other side of the couch sink. Eyes closed, and he leaned and pressed his head against O’Chunks’s side. O’Chunks shifted, and laid a hand on the top of his hair.

A page turned in the darkness. Still reading the _\----- of Monte Cristo,_ he guessed. Above, the rain tapered down, soft, and soothing finger taps against the rooftop, as familiar as chill fading from cold, thick flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, what a night


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> top is a dream sequence idea i tried

_I’m sorry count, I’m sorry. I know you created me,  I know I was like a toddler to a god but I had no choice I had no choice I didn’t I swear I tried. The days were seconds so fast so harsh and I couldn’t breathe._

_You were gone, and I was nothing_

_You were gone, and there was nothing left for ANYONE_

_You were gone, but he was there, and he told me he promised he SWORE_

Mr. L opened his eyes.

O’Chunks snored into the pillow, lying so close beside him he could feel the warmth from his skin. Mr. L did nothing but stare up at the thin light wavering on the ceiling above. Finger taps on the roof top, much unlike nails against a wooden railing. It was still raining, but he could see dim brightness from the windows. Morning had come.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. No exploring today, but he could sit on the porch for a few minutes before starting breakfast. A few minutes of solitude before they had to start the day. He could even start a new book; O’Chunks told him a while ago how good  _Great Expectations_ was.  An entire morning to do anything, because he knew O’Chunks would sleep in. Even though it was his morning to cook breakfast, Mr. L though, a faint smile forming.

The warm light from the window flickered and disappeared. Mr. L glanced at the window.

Dimentio was there.

He felt his eyes widen, his lips press together as a steady wave of panic rose in his chest. His fists clenched on top of the covers. It took all he had not to scream.

Dimentio grinned and waved.

“Don’t wake your partner,” He mouthed, so clearly and pronounced that Mr. L could hear him in his head anyway, “I just wanted to check on you.”

In a blink, he was gone.

Gently, Mr. L sat back into his pillow, his heart throbbing in his chest. He forced his fists to unclench. O’Chunks snorted, and rolled over towards the window. Mr. L stared at the light on the ceiling.

He had a feel that this was a common occurrence, that Dimentio came frequently to watch them sleep, and hover over their vulnerable forms.

He felt as well, that this was just another fact he would learn to accept, among the millions of other little facts he tolerated so easily and well he almost forgot they existed.

Mr. L slid out of bed. He pulled up his pajama pants, as they slid down in hips in their practiced fashion, and padded towards the kitchen. Breakfast. Porch. Book. Simple, happy little things that went along perfectly inside a perfect world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> think i should a voyeurism tag now? ayyyy


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think its Romeo and Juliet, but i dont really have a clue.  
> i quoted it off the top of my head

_What is slave? It is a hand, a foot,  
A arm, a face, and every other part belonging to another man._

_O, be some cowardly dog!_

_What is in a dictator? That which we call perfect ran by any other king would be ten times as sweet;_

The kitchen door slammed and Mr. L jumped awake. He turned his head toward O’Chunks, and saw the Irishman raise an eyebrow in return.

“You’ve been nappin’ eh lot lately.” He remarked. Mr. L shrugged. He couldn’t sleep well at night anymore.

O’Chunks jumped off the top step of the stairs, and began to walk out to the garden. “I’ve already picked the bushes,” Mr. L called after him. “They’re in the pantry.”

O’Chunks stopped, shrugged, and walked back. “When you’d have time to do that?” He plopped into the adjacent rocking chair. His head twisted to look at Mr. L, the light brown eyes gentle.

“This morning.” Mr. L said. “You sleepy head.” He couldn’t resist smiling.

“Did yeh package t’em up?”

Mr. L nodded. “I think I’m going to buy an outdoor light when we go to town tomorrow. Or a heater, or lamp. Something so we can sit out on the porch at night.”

O’Chunks nodded without commenting, and turned back to the yard. Mr. L followed his gaze.

Evening had set, and it had been a blazing hot day. The sun seemed to suck every bit of moisture from the world, and the entire landscape was alight with orange and yellow glinting from the garden shed roof, and from the broad leaves of crops and individual grass blades. Outside the shade of the porch, they could have been living in an enormous microwave, for all the heat did to cook the ground.

Mr. L was covered in a sheen of moisture, from sitting outside so long. He glanced over at O’Chunks, and watched a bead of sweat slide down the man’s neck.

“Yeh know that book I’ve been readin’?” O’Chunks said. “Teh Count of Monte Cristo?” Mr. L nodded. “Yeh should read it.”

“You’re through with it?” He asked.

“Ay.”

“I’ll give it a try then, I guess. What’s it about?”

O’Chunks glanced at him. “Ah, I’d ‘ate tah spoil anythin’.”

They stayed in silence for another moment. At some point, O’Chunks must have reached over and taken his hand, because now their two palms were flush together, O’Chunks’ fingers curling over his smaller ones. Their hands hung over the arm rest, swinging in sync as they gazed over what had been created.

Mr. L closed his eyes.  For a moment, he could even believe this was all they ever wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perfect


	5. Chapter 5

The people of the world were strange. Their skin was a wrinkled dark brown; their eyes were sharp glittering beetles hidden in the bark of an old tree. Their bodies were stout, and even Mr. L looked like a giant beside one.

O’Chunks called them Ants, when they were first alive and came upon the village. The name stuck. None of the Ants talked to them very much, and refused to say anything about themselves, so there was no telling if the name offended them.

As O’Chunks engaged in silent conversation with a farmer, Mr. L held two of the packages close to his chest and scanned the market stalls. He waded through the lake of waist-high being and head towards a dark stall hidden on the street corner. The glitter of broken electronics was too perceptible in the bright sunlight.

Mr. L pointed at a tangle of wires with a intact light bulb strangled within them. He produced the blackberries from under his arm and held up two fingers.

The Ant held up one. Mr. L flourished his two. The Ant stubbornly held his one.

“It’s worth it. Let me give you two.”

The Ant shook his head, and waved a hand over his table. _Junk,_ he seemed to say.

Mr. L huffed, and laid the packages out upon the stall. “Look at how small these are. So few in them. Junk’s worth more than just one tiny basket.”

The Ant grimaced, but conceded. As he began wrapping them in the thick brown paper, Mr. L caught him sliding in a few extra pieces- a broken remote, a square piece of metal- but didn’t argue. They were worthless, anyways, and maybe he could even use them to fix the light.

Their height and appearance marked them as relations to the king, and the Ants always tried to sell to them for too-low prices. Whether it was Dimentio’s bidding, or some strange instinct, Mr. L didn’t know. He did find, however, negotiating up, was just as much of a headache as negotiating down.

He found O’Chunks again at a stall a few booths away from the farmers. He was arguing with a merchant over the price of a warped piece of fencing; the merchant won. O’Chunks bought it for a measly 25 copper coins.

“I take it you made it out with the farmer?” Mr. L asked, glancing at the bundles in O’Chunks arms as he took the fencing,” Or did you lose again?”

O’Chunks scowled. “Yeh know what ‘appened.” He muttered, as he handed the Ant the coins.

Mr. L patted him on the arm. ”It can’t be helped.” He said. “What’s the plan?”

O’Chunks thumbed in the direction of the farmer’s stall, “I got somethin’ out of ‘im.” He said. “They found some new kindah animal.  Some kind of bird.”

Mr. L wrinkled his nose. ”A turkey? Chicken?”

O’Chunks shrugged. ”No tellin’. I least wanna check it out.”

Mr. L pursed his lips. “How long will you be?”

“Ah day. At least. Shouldn’t take long, I’ll be ‘ome tommorah afternoon, probably.”       

“Alright.” Mr. L said. “Stay safe.”

O’Chunks smiled at him, and the corners of his eyes crinkled up with hints of sadness. “Love yeh.” His heart fluttered.

He leaned down, and pressed a light kiss to the corner of Mr. L’s mouth. Mr. L caught him before he straightened, and brought their lips together.

 

He hurried out of the southern gate, packages weighing in his arms and the fencing balanced carefully on his shoulder. The town wasn’t far from their home, but the land was in the foothills; the towns people couldn’t see the house, and they couldn’t see the town. It was a short road, just around the nearest mountain, but O’Chunks and Mr. L lived in indefinite solitude.

Mr. L dropped the bundles on the kitchen table and began to unwrap them. A bottle of milk, some fruit, seed packets- he put up the perishables and left the rest to deal with later.

Nearly an entire day alone. O’Chunks was his noise maker. The house felt like a shell without him; he missed the music of home already. The beat of the dryer, the pounding of footsteps, the harmony of snores. The bed would feel big tonight without O’Chunks trying to hog the covers.

The glint of sunlight from the greenery outside told him it was still early in the afternoon, but he didn’t feel like going outside. There was a book lying on the coffee table beside the couch.  Mr. L picked it up, flitting the pages across his fingers; _The ----- of Monte Cristo._ There were sticky notes cluttering the second half of the book- he guessed O’Chunks marked a few scenes he liked. Mr. L flopped onto the couch, and opened it to the first page.

He read late into the night, and then late into the morning.

Outside, the beaming sunlight melted into a harsh finger-tapping rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Count_of_Monte_Cristo
> 
> The Count of Monte Cristo is a novel about a man wrongfully imprisoned. He later escapes his confinement, and enacts revenge on those who imprisoned him.


	6. Chapter 6

It was raining, angry heavy drops that pounded the beat of drums against the rocks; it poured down like a bucket of water on his head, and he couldn’t find himself to move. It wasn’t hail. He wasn’t _furious,_ but the rain sent a horrifyingly clear message.

Mr. L couldn’t remember ever feeling so betrayed before. Dimentio, the count’s _death_ had hurt but this felt like someone had _set fire to his chest and left him to burn._

After everything he’s sacrificed, after he did to have this, O’Chunks gave him- _stupidity._ _Utter stupidity- I warned him, I tried to warn him._ Notes and sentences in black and a plan for murder. 

If he had only read that book first. Then the idea would have never imbedded itself in O’Chunks’s head. The themes were much too similar. Betrayal. Prison. And then _I know why the caged bird beats his wings til blood is red on the cruel bars._

The book would had been thrown out before O’Chunks had even the chance to know it existed.

Footsteps behind him. Heavy ones, that crushed even the damp leaves and made a _crunch!_ that was audible over the rain.

A hand pressed itself against his shoulder. It was warm and gentle.

But Mr. L didn’t want his warmth, his comfort. He shrugged it off. “Go away.” He said. His voice was hoarse.

“You’re gonna get sick.” O’Chunks said, his tone pleading, the pitch soft. “It’ll be cold soon.”

“I don’t care.” He said. Maybe it would be considered punishment. Maybe it would be enough. ”Go home. Leave me alone.”

“Mr. L…” Mr. L heard him sit down on the rock, his clothes dragging across the stone with a light scratching sound. He inched away. His toes touched the edge of the water, close enough to dip in if he leaned forward.

“…L.” He didn’t care. He didn’t care if he fell into the water and the current carried him away and bashed his head open on the stones, he didn’t-

“I just can’t believe you would do this to me.” He said. There was a quick jerking sound from behind him, like a flinch put into noise. “We worked so hard for this, to get here-“

“This isn’t anything like ah perfect world,” O’Chunks cut in, his voice billowing with hate and eagerness, ”This is just like a prison, but if we can find a way out, find some way to escape, we can…”

“I read it. I read the book, O’Chunks.” He shuddered. “I understand what you _think._ But I don’t think you understand what this really is.” He twisted around to look at the Irishman. O’Chunks’ beard clung to his chin, and his clothes were soaked so thoroughly they looked welded to his skin.

 His eyes were the depth of confusion.

“This isn’t our perfect world. It’s his. His perfect world, and there’s nothing he can’t do. _Nothing._ ”

Mr. L turned to face forward. His toes slipped into the water and the shock of cold drew the breath from his chest. “He knows,” Mr. L gasped. “He probably knew from the moment you thought of it. And if you ever decided to go through with it he could kill you, he could swallow you up in the earth or have you struck by lightning or, or just blink you out of existence.”

His eyes were burning and his vision was blurring. He was crying. Mr. L wiped at his nose and blinked rapidly. “What would I be then, Chunks?” He choked out, “What would I do?”

“L...” The warm hands grasped at his shoulders again, and this time Mr. L let them. O’Chunks pulled him backward, into his lap, and into the warmth against his chest and thighs. He couldn’t tell if he was still crying or not as O’Chunks leaned over him to block the rain, with apologies dripping from his lips like hot glass,” I’m sorry, I’m so sorry baby,”.

The arms reach under him and held him closer. “I’m sorry, I’m,” .

He was so angry. His body ached with rage, but he couldn’t act on it. He was helpless, like always.

“I’m so sorry.”

O’Chunks was carrying him. His body jumped as they stepped away from the river, the leaves crinkling underfoot.

Then they were shuffling up the stairs. Then it was the kitchen, then it was the hallway, and O’Chunks laid him, so gently, onto the bedroom floor. He was undressed. The cool air of the room felt like fire against his flesh.

Footsteps, footsteps, and a slosh, wet clothes thrown onto a dry carpet. Footsteps. He was lifted again, and the warmth of the bed and blankets surrounded him like a warm cloud.

He felt O’Chunks climb into bed behind him. His arm twisted around Mr. L’s waist. He felt the heat from O’Chunk’s body press against his back.

“I’m sorry baby. “He whispered. “I love yeh.”

Mr. L didn’t find his tongue in time to say it back before the darkness swallowed him whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kinda like this chapter cause when i read it i can hear the rain


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, this is where the gore and violence warning comes in

_Oh god I know why the caged bird sings but must he beat his wings_

_They were happy here they had a life here and it was good_

_The fire lightning the STORMS the blackness please don’t stop don’t hurt him don’t hurt him dON’T HURT HIM;_

Mr. L opened his eyes. O’Chunks snored beside him, one large hand still pressed against Mr. L’s thigh. The light quivered on the ceiling. It was another day, just almost. It was a visit day. A visit day that would be bad, a day that would unpredictable and a visit day he dreaded with all the blood and guts that pounded in his chest.

He slid out of bed and dressed in an old outfit, his Castle Bleck uniform. The rough fabric felt strange against his skin. Their clothes from last night were lying in a damp pile in the middle of the floor. He picked them up and threw them in the laundry room.

Then, he settled in on the living room couch and waited with his head bowed.

It didn’t take long. One second he wasn’t, the next he was. Mr. L saw him through his eyelashes, and stilled. He stared at the floor. He waited.

A gloved hand gently curled and twisted its fingers into the top of his head. They combed downwards, and then repeated the motion, petting him like a dog.

“You’re husband has been busy.” Dimentio spoke. To anyone else it was calm, gentle, but to Mr. L it held a thousand inflictions; and each one made him shudder.

“Please don’t hurt him,” He said, his eyes beginning to burn,” Please don’t, he’s just stupid, he would never he couldn’t-“

“ _Shhhhhhhhh…”_ Dimentio spoke, and Mr. L fell quiet.

“I’ve given him his perfect world. He wanted a simple life like he used to have before the war. He wanted to live on a farm and work the land. I gave him this.”

The tears pooled, and spilled over. He blinked. One dripped down to the floor, and soaked into the dark wood. Mr. L swallowed.

The hand stroked.

“And, I gave you what you wanted. You love him. You just wanted to be with him. You wanted a way out with the man you felt you love.”

“Y-yes-s,” He choked out,” _yes!”_

“You let him think of killing me. “

The stroking stilled, but he couldn’t. Mr. L sobbed to the floor, his body shuddering and twitching under the stress.

 “I should kill him for that.”

“Please don’t, “He whimpered. “Please don’t hurt him, please.”

“Look at me.”

He looked up. Dimentio’s face was emotionless. He had a cloth in his hands, and he began to wipe Mr. L’s face, as gentle as he would be with a child.

“I won’t hurt him. “

He slumped. His entire body ached with relief. Dimentio took his chin and lifted it, gazing into his eyes with a stern look.

“But I will need a finger, Mr. L.”

Just like his toes. But he would give it up. It was nothing for O’Chunks.

“That book will be destroyed as well.”

He didn’t expect anything different.

“Is this clear?”

He nodded, and a smile broken on Dimentio’s face, like the earth cracking to reveal a precious jewel. He swiped down Mr. L’s cheek, and then took his hand.

“Come on. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

Dimentio tugged on his arm, and he followed, like a dog behind its master. Down the hall, past their bedroom. They walked to the cutting board. Dimento opened the silverware drawer, and he handed him one of the kitchen knives.

He was feeling merciful, it felt. The knife was sharp.

“Now cut it right…. Here.”

Mr. L placed the blade at the base of his left middle finger, at the end of the knuckle where the finger met the palm. He looked at Dimentio. Dimento smiled. Mr. L looked back down at his hand. That was the signal.

He closed his eyes, and pressed down hard.


	8. Chapter 8

His hands were shaking when he brought the plates to the table, but O’Chunks didn’t notice it right away. The Irishman just smiled at him.

“Mornin, babe.” He said, as he took the platters, “What’s-“ He stopped mid-sentence and his eyes widened, staring transfixed at the bloody nub that had bled through the bandages. Mr. L stayed silent. He set down the oatmeal, and turned to go back for milk.

O’Chunks caught him by the arm.

“Show me yer hand.” He said.

Mr. L trembled a little. “No.” he said, softly. “You’re getting angry, and you need to calm down first. Wait until after breakfast.”

“Show me yer hand, Mr. L.” His voice was gruff with rage. “I’m not angry.”

Mr. L shook his head. “Wait,” he insisted, tugging on his arm. O’Chunks growled, and let go. Mr. L got the milk.

Breakfast was spent in a harsh silence. O’Chunks ate quickly, glaring at his food to avoid glaring across the table, and Mr. L picked at his plate. His left hand twitched under the table. When O’Chunks finished, Mr. L rinsed the dishes in the sink and then walked towards the door.

“Outside.” he said. O’Chunks followed him wordlessly.

They sat down on the porch steps, and Mr. L let O’Chunks take his hand. The Irishman inspected it . As one thumb grazed over the nub left Mr. L flinched, and O’Chunks’ gaze shot to him.

“Does it ‘urt?” He asked. Mr. L nodded, unwilling to admit anymore.

“I tried to tell you. “ he said. “I knew it had to happen. That he would do something.”

Mr. L saw his teeth grit, and O’Chunks blew a hot breath of air from his nose. “I’m ‘a kill ‘im.”He growled.

“Don’t you dare!”

“’e-“

“Shut up!” Mr. L hissed. “We talked about this yesterday. He can do worse, O’Chunks, much much worse. He was feeling merciful this time. I asked him not hurt you, and he…”

 “I woulda rather it ‘ave been me.” O’Chunks murmured. His thumb carefully avoided the nub, stroking down the back of Mr. L’s hand. “Why woulda ‘e…”

“Perfect world,” Mr. L said, and sighed. “Dimentio give you your perfect world. And you plan to kill him.”

O’Chunks eyes closed, briefly. “I’m so sorry,” he said, opening them. “I’m’a so sorry.”

Mr. L smiled at him. “It’s okay, Chunks.” He leaned over, and pressed his head against the man’s shoulder. “I love you.”

O’Chunks tapped his chin against his forehead. “I love yeh too.” Then he tapped his thumb. “Yeh need tah change these ‘fore they get infected.”

“I’m letting it clot,” came the automatic answer. “I didn’t want to cauterize.” He closed his eyes. “We have a bottle of painkillers in the cabinet. I took a few.” He didn’t mention the short second- when he thought about downing the entire bottle, and crawling into the river to die. “I found some sleeping pills too. I might take some tonight.”

O’Chunks paused. “Do yah want tah go tah sleep now?”

“I just woke up, “Mr. L murmured. He wasn’t sleepy. He was just tired.

O’Chunks held his hand and rubbed it, and Mr. L stared into the abyss of black behind his eyelids. Another day. Another thought. Another wish that this would all be over.

They passed like seconds, these days; flowing, swirling,  like the quick trickle of a tempting current. How long had they lived here together? A year? He couldn’t remember. In the end, they would still have each other; in the end, they had survived. The days would pass, somehow. The seconds would drip on. And the storm would rage and smash, an impossible force to withstand.

They would have each other. He could live for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cheesy, cheesy ending. but this is the last chapter guys. sorry.


End file.
